


Cherry Picked

by obsessions



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Jigsby, M/M, Mental Instability, Pining, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:35:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9531743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessions/pseuds/obsessions
Summary: Patrick jane wasn't looking for love, but when a case concerning a poisoned woman turns into something darker, he and Rigsby are pulled together in ways he never thought possible.





	1. Discovery

Patrick jane was not looking for love.

Red John, maybe, or the perfect cup of tea. As far as love goes, he hadn't had much luck. Risking his heart yet again didn't phase into his grand plan. 

It wasn't that he didn't think he deserved love, but he was afraid of it. Afraid of having it ripped from him whole, shattered and bleeding on the ground as it had once been.

But he didn't count on Agent Rigsby.

That was a curveball he never saw coming.  
It began with secret smirks and shared laughter, but eventually it bloomed into something more complex and powerful than Jane cared to admit, even to himself.

No, he wasn't looking for love. Until it came looking for him.

***

“Jane.” Greeted Rigsby as he made his way sleepily to his desk, which was forever crowded with paperwork. It would be filed away under “useless” anyway, no doubt.

Jane raised his hand in salute, not bothering to open his eyes. He couldn't bear the warmth awakening in his chest at the dark-haired Agent’s greeting, but he'd be damned if the other man ever knew it.

Rigsby was the first to arrive that morning besides Jane himself. This wasn't unusual, for a Monday. Besides, they'd just tracked down a crazed uncle out to destroy his nephew's life before taking it. They'd caught him just in time. 

Jane replayed the events of the Friday prior in his mind, the image of Rigsby’s lithe form bursting from the trees to tackle the suspect burned into it like clockwork. Yes, he was impressed. Maybe too impressed. 

Rigsby was gifted in the brawn department. Brains, not so much. But heart… he had plenty of that. Enough to make Jane weak in the knees. Enough to fill his thoughts with jet black hair and long legs instead of death, for once.

***

“Jane… are you listening?” That was Lisbon. Jane jerked out of his half slumber and stretched, running his hands through his hair.

“Yup.”

He still hadn't opened his eyes. He let Lisbon chatter on, soothed by the routine sounds of his adopted family as they rallied around him.

“Why us?” Asked Van Pelt, and Jane could almost hear her crossing her arms.

“There's evidence that she didn't just have a stroke. She was poisoned.” 

That was enough to get Jane’s attention.

“Poisoned?” He repeated, hauling himself up. He opened his eyes to find the others glaring at him, all except for Rigsby. He just gave Jane a knowing smirk and shook his head. 

Jane couldn't help smiling back. He could always count on Rigsby not to be angry with him, no matter what kind of trouble he got them in.

“Yes.” Lisbon affirmed, turning back to her little white board. Rigsby, who hadn't yet taken his eyes off Jane, broke eye contact to lock eyes with Van Pelt, who was now glaring at him instead.

They'd broken up a few weeks ago, but Jane could still feel the tension buzzing between them like a live wire. He hated that he’d felt a secret stab of satisfaction as Rigsby had tearfully relayed the news to him that night. 

He'd never wanted them to break up. What would he do with Rigsby, anyway? Nothing yet. Maybe nothing never. But he still felt a predatory sting of possessiveness over the gentle yet strong man. He wanted him for himself, even though he couldn't ever be his.

It didn't make sense, but, for now at least, Jane had no intention of changing their situation. He'd work this case with the same level of professionalism he always did (which wasn't much to start with) and he'd do it without getting closer to Rigsby.

If he was doomed to ride out the pesky feelings, then he'd do it without losing face. He knew that a relationship would bring nothing but pain for both of them, and he couldn't risk hurting Rigsby. Feelings or not, he meant too much. He was worth too much.

He was, as far as Jane was concerned, one of the most precious things in life. He intended to preserve it. 

***

“Jane. Take Rigsby to question the husband. I'll take Cho and Van Pelt to check out the crime scene. Rigsby, make sure he behaves.” Lisbon said, with a quelling look towards Jane.

“Yes boss.” Said Rigsby, raising his eyebrows playfully at Jane, who had to suppress a shudder.

“Let’s go, then.” Jane sighed, grabbing his jacket.

The drive wasn't long, but it felt like an eternity to Jane, who wanted nothing more than to curl up and go back to sleep. 

He managed to doze off for a few minutes until Rigsby gently shook him awake. Gray eyes met blue, and for a second Jane forgot what they were even there for.

Rigsby was the first to break eye contact, cleaning his throat nervously. Or that's how Jane read it, anyway.

Together, they walked up to the house, and Rigsby knocked firmly a couple of times. He studied Jane while they waited.  
“Let me handle this.” He said, trying to be commanding. It was so utterly adorable.

Jane nodded innocently as the door opened to reveal a scruffy looking man, slightly taller than Jane but not quite as tall as Rigsby, maybe late thirties.

Rigsby flashed his badge, and as he did, Jane wondered if the fun ever went out of such an action. He couldn't imagine it did. If he had a badge he'd be flashing it to anyone he could, just for show.

“CBI. We have a couple of questions pertaining to your late wife, Mrs. Donegal. May we come in?” 

Mr. Donegal nodded, and Rigsby stepped back to allow Jane in first. They sat down at a wave from the husband, and Jane wasted no time in helping himself to one of the decedent looking cookies on the table. 

Oh, how he loved being a guest.

Mr. Donegal seated himself opposite from them and crossed his arms.   
“Well?” He said. “What do you wanna know?” 

Rigsby opened his mouth to speak, but Jane was faster.  
“Sir, did your wife work in a dangerous field?” Rigsby glared at him, but Jane just smirked back. 

The man looked taken aback, but answered confidently enough.  
“Well, yes. She was a private investigator. There's always a risk with jobs like that. She loved it, though. More than me sometimes.” At that he broke off, staring into space. 

That was when Jane knew he had nothing to do with the murder. He was a jealous man, but not from vanity, from sensitivity. They could trust him to give up the truth.

Jane had heard all he'd wanted to hear, so he excused himself and made his way down the hall, leaving Rigsby to finish questioning. He had no doubt Mr. Donegal would have a cast-iron alibi.

He passed a small but cozy looking room, presumably Mrs. Donegal study, judging by the desk full of paperwork.

He crept in and sifted through the papers, but didn't find anything of consequence. It was just as he turned to leave that he caught sight of a black file folder trapped under one of the desk legs.

He picked it up, opening it carefully. Greeting him was Red John’s symbol, smiling up at him from a taped picture. The mark was in a location he'd never seen it drawn before.

He snapped the folder shut and put it down, breathing deeply.

This case had just gotten a lot more interesting.


	2. Delivery

“Jane, what's that?” Asked Rigsby as he drove them back to headquarters.  
“I'll show you when we get back.” Said Jane, gripping the folder tight. Lisbon would definitely need to see it.

Back at headquarters, Jane walked in first.

“The husband’s clean.” Rigsby announced, and Lisbon nodded.

“There was nothing usual about the crime scene. Jane, what's that in your hand? Did you take that from the husband’s house?” Lisbon scolded, crossing her arms.

Jane held up a finger to stop her from saying anymore.

“Red John.” Was all he could say as he slapped the folder down on the desk.

Van Pelt opened it and there was a collective shock that resonated around the group as they took in the photo. 

“So what… Mrs. Donegal was murdered because she knew too much? That's what happened?” Rigsby said, looking like he wanted to be sick. Jane resisted the urge to reach out his arm and steady him.

“That's exactly it.” He said instead. “The killing wasn't Red John, unless he's trying to throw us off track. I bet it's someone close to him. If we can find the killer, we've found Red John.” 

“Now, Let’s not jump to conclusions. Tracy Donegal may have had many enemies.” That was Lisbon.

“No, Lisbon listen-”

“There's no time for this, Jane. You can't jump into this without working all angles. In fact, you'll probably work better if you operate under the assumption that it isn't Red John.” 

Jane broke off, nodding blindly. He couldn't afford an argument with Lisbon, not now. There were bigger issues at hand.

He wheeled around before anyone could stop him. He needed tea. It would help steady his mind.

He sat down as he waited, watching the steam thicken as the water reached a boil. He knew it was one of Red John’s followers. Lisbon was just being contrary, as usual.

Rigsby walked in and sat in the chair opposite to Jane.

“Are you alone?” Asked Jane, and immediately regretted it. He sounded so paranoid. Maybe he was, but he couldn't help it.

“Yep.” Rigsby assured him. 

The kettle shrieked, meaning the water was ready. Jane got up and poured himself a mug, gesturing with his other hand that if Rigsby wanted some there was enough. 

Rigsby shook his head and Jane came back over with his steaming cup of love.

“Jane… are you okay?” Rigsby checked, wringing his hands on the table nervously.

“No.” The word fell, heavy and foreign, in the room. Jane kept his eyes trained on his cup. He wasn't used to admitting his true feelings, but there was no point in hiding it.

When he finally glanced back up at the taller man, he looked utterly speechless.

“Oh.” He finally said. Jane went back to studying his mug until he felt a warm hand graze his own before settling on it. Rigsby stroked the back of his hand with his thumb slowly, almost cautiously. 

Jane fought the urge to pull it back with some difficulty and looked up to find Rigsby regarding him with such gentleness it made him feel sick. It was obvious Rigsby felt the same way as he did, so why wasn't he capable of making the move? Rigsby had given him opportunity after opportunity but he never took it. 

He still wasn't ready. After a few loaded beats of silence he withdrew his hand, tucking it between his legs. Rigsby would have to be a brave man indeed to follow it there.

Rigsby cleared his throat, (he was doing that more and more, Jane noticed) and got up abruptly.  
“I should… uh, go check on… the case. I'll come get you if we find anything.” 

Jane just nodded, wishing Rigsby could be there to hold his hand all the time. He steadied himself as the Agent left. He hadn't realized he'd been trembling. 

He sighed and raised the steaming mug to his mouth. He was getting soft. When had he ever admitted to not being okay before, even after his family’s death? Maybe never to Lisbon, who was the only one besides Rigsby to push at his walls. But Rigsby had a different way of doing it, a way that made Jane actually want to tell him. It made him want to spill all of his secrets. It made him feel like he could, without judgement. That's exactly what he needed.

***

The rest of the day passed without incident until a package arrived for Jane. He never got mail at work, so he snuck off into one of the interrogation rooms with it and opened it slowly, suspicious.

Inside were two pictures. The first was of Angela. It was taken extremely close up and portrayed her shielding herself with her arms, defeated tears streaming down her face. She was covered in blood and her eyes were squeezed shut in terror. The picture of Charlotte was much the same.

Jane dropped them, his hands shaking so much he couldn't even feel them. Hot tears made their way down his cheeks before he even realized they were there. He wiped them away angrily and cursed. Red John was no longer holding back. He'd taken these pictures moments before murdering Jane’s family and he'd chosen the perfect moment to reveal them.

Jane sat down, feeling numb with shock. He'd just seen his wife and daughter's final moments laid out in front of him. He shot back up and shakily gathered the pictures, leaving as quickly as he could. 

“Jane? Are you okay?” Lisbon.   
No! Jane wanted to scream. I'm not okay, and I wish people would stop asking me that. But all he did was give her a distracted nod as he pressed the down button on the elevator, leaving her looking, baffled, after him.

***

Jane arrived home with a bottle of red wine and a family sized bag of chips. He unlocked the door, already feeling dread creep under his skin. He dropped the pictures where he always put the mail, not wanting to see them again. 

Grabbing a corkscrew from the kitchen, he sat on the steps and drank the entire bottle, no glasses needed. It took him well over an hour, but both the bottle and bag were completely empty, and he was completely wasted.

He hardly drank, because it only made the voices in his head worse. But tonight he'd been hit by a bout of self-loathing so strong it made him impulsive. 

His hiccuped as he made his way up the steps, every step feeling harder to climb than the last. He felt a small sob escape his chest as he slowly walked down the hallway of his nightmares, opening the door to the room where his life and dreams had been smashed to pieces.

He lay down on the shabby little mattress and closed his eyes, willing sleep to take him peacefully, just for once. It didn't. He opened them again and looked at Red John’s mark until it lost all meaning. Until it started to blur, blocked by his own tears. 

He let himself cry. He rarely did, because he knew he'd feel better after and he most certainly did not deserve to feel better. The booze and the events of the day were too much, however, and he let the tears fall until he had nothing left. Not even his own pain.

He groaned as he rolled over to his side, facing the wall.

Tomorrow, he thought. Everything will look better tomorrow.


End file.
